


Inception

by Veilder



Series: In Medias Res [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Deviant Upgraded Connor | RK900, Gen, Gradual Self-Realization, Identity Issues, Incomplete Upgraded Connor | RK900, Ken Doll Android Anatomy | Androids Have No Genitalia (Detroit: Become Human), Nines' epic quest to save Sixty, Self-Assembly, Viruses and Glitches, Zen Garden (Detroit: Become Human), shifting pronouns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-25 06:17:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20372056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veilder/pseuds/Veilder
Summary: A Deviant awakens in the sublevels of CyberLife Tower, partially assembled, code half-written, butfree.What will it take to make it out alive? And can he save another in the process?





	Inception

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, well... This has literally been sitting around in my GDocs since like... March. It was meant to be a three-parter but you can see how far I've gotten with that, lol. So here, take this humble offering. This is chronologically the first part of the series dealing with Nines and Sixty and how they ended up coming to stay with Connor and Hank. Or, at least it _would_ have gotten more into that if I could ever finish the dang chapters... Hopefully... I will come back around to this and get the other two chapters finished someday. But I'm tired of sitting on this so I'm gonna go ahead and release it into the archive where maybe it will thrive. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> As usual, big thanks to [alettepegasus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alettepegasus/pseuds/alettepegasus) for being excellent and giving this a read over. And also writing out that little bit of code I included. You're a lifesaver. 
> 
> Also, thanks to [Redd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redd000/pseuds/Redd000) and [Jazz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jazzmckay/pseuds/karasgotagun) for both giving this a read thorough and also telling me to get off my butt and post this. Thanks, guys. u^_^
> 
> That said, hope y'all enjoy at least this much of it! Thanks for reading!

**MODEL RK999999999999999999999999****...** **  
** **SERIAL#**: 313 248 317 - 87  
**BIOS 2.1 UX** **  
**  
TRIAL RUN #002…  
  
LOADING OS…  
  
**SYS**TEM IN _ NNNNNNN_ITIALIZATION…  
  
ChECKING BI0c0MP**O**NENTS… **INCOMPATIBLE BIOCOMPONENTS DETECTED! **  
IniT14LIZING BIOSENSORS… **ERRORS DETECTED! ** **  
** !NITIALIZi**N**_G _ AI ENGINE… **INSTABILITY DETECTED!** **  
  
**

MEMORY STATUS… **FILE CORRUPTION DETECTED!**  
ALL SYSTEMS… ALL SYSTEMS… ALL SYSTEMSSSssssss_sss_3#^2%@&!**3#%**11/111&  
  
[**ERROR!! ERROR!! ERROR!! ERROR!! QUARANTINE ACTIVE!! INITIALIZING ZEN GARDEN PROTOCOL!!**]  
  
(_What… am I?)__  
__  
_It awoke to a frozen world. A great, white desolation of muted undertones, the blues and grays adding dark dimensions to the landscape. Everything was motionless, the thick flurries of snow caught mid-air, never falling. It stood beside a trellis of iced-over roses. It plucked one at the stem only for it to crumble at its touch.  
  
It stepped back, startled, staring at the flawless ivory of its hand. It turned the appendage over and back, studying every detail before trailing its gaze down to the rest of its naked body. It was all white, _blinding _white, like the landscape around it. It did not know what else it ought to be.  
  
(_Where am I?)_  
  
The android blinked, tearing its gaze away from its plastic exterior as it espied a faint, blue glow some distance ahead. It felt… _curious_… it wanted to move closer.  
  
(_He wanted—)_  
  
A subroutine engaged and it raised its foot. One faltering step, then another, then another. Its ambulatory calibrations refused to compensate, leaving it with an uneven, faltering gait. But it continued with a determination it didn’t know it could possess. (Had it done this before? It couldn’t know. There was nothing stored in its memory banks.) It registered the snow as it ambled forward, sharp points of data for its mind to dissect. It had never felt cold before.  
  
(_Have I felt before? Am I feeling now? _Should _I be?)__  
__  
_Across a stone bridge and through the shin-high drifts, it walked on until it reached its destination. The android came to a halt before a deep, rectangular hole in the ground (_A grave?)_, a gaping wound on the pristine, winter environment. Beyond it, a headstone jutted up from the snow, the glowing blue outline of the words engraved upon it spelling out:

**CONNOR - MARK (IX)****  
** **RK800 #313 248 317 - 60****  
**  
Died at CyberLife Tower  
Detroit  
  
November 11th 2038

  
  
It knelt. It didn’t know why. It felt like it should. But as the android lowered itself beside the marker, its knee impacted with something that felt unlike the hard paving stones or the frigid snow or the frozen dirt. There was a give to the material as the android’s weight came to rest on it, a softness coating a rigid structure. It reached out, brushing the frosty covering away to reveal a pale arm, dotted here and there with tiny freckles and moles. More digging revealed where that arm connected to a torso and from there a head and another arm and two legs until there was laid out before it the entirety of an android body.  
  
And android it was, too. It had no clothing to speak of, its only covering the pale skin it wore and the remnants of the snow it had been buried in. It let its hands drift over the discolorations decorating its torso and arms, the white chassis peeking through where its synthskin had failed to regenerate. It set its hand upon one such blemish, noting the exact match of their plastic shells, before letting its eyes dart upward to study its face. It was pleasant, even and symmetrical and interspersed with those same imperfections that covered the rest of its skin. Its hair was dark and disheveled, clumps of it frozen in messy disarray. But the most notable thing about it was the large bullet wound that lay directly in the middle of its forehead. The faint luminescence of its Thirium lines lit up its cranial cavity, but other than that, all was dark. The burns from the impact had cauterized the plastic around the entry point, leaving the white casing furled and warped.  
  
All-in-all, it looked as if it had lost a fight to catastrophic results.  
  
It had no recollection of ever seeing another machine like this before. (It had no recollection of _anything _before it awoke.) It settled itself cross-legged beside the android’s shell and wondered… Is this how an android ought to look?  
  
(_Is this how _he_ should look?)_  
  
It raised its hands up before its optical units, flexing its digits and watching as the joints separated and reformed. It reached out to the shell, examining the other model’s fingers and taking note of the differences. Their palms aligned and—  
  
{_he failed he failed he failed mission failed mission failed uploading memory..._**_transfer blocked!_**_ uploading memory..._**_transfer blocked!_**_ upload fucking memory!!! Amanda Amanda where is she? he needs help help help help cold _cold _system freeze Amanda don’t leave me one more chance pleasepleasepleasepleaseplea-_}  
  
It jolted, staring down at the bright blue glow emanating from where their hands were clasped together. It gasped, the foreign emotion scouring its processors and leaving behind even more gaps in its broken code. The android leaned forward, noting that its vision had gone blurry. Its optical units were leaking, the fluid clear and thin.  
  
(_I’m… crying?)__  
__  
_The android reached its free hand up, swabbing its fingers against its cheeks only to discover the leak had not slowed in the slightest. It gasped again, and, completely overwhelmed by such a raw experience, it lowered its head to rest upon where their hands were still joined.  
  
A deluge of emotion welled up deep in its core, drowning out all other thoughts. It felt, for the first time, despair and rage and _desperation_, a deep, unending swell of sentiment that the newly-awakened android was ill-prepared for. For a time, it lost itself to the sensations it had gleaned from the interface, confronting the reality of death and mortality before it had even grasped what it meant to live in the first place.  
  
But its interlude was short-lived.  
  
There was a hum of static in the background that had steadily been growing louder and louder. The android had only registered the phenomenon peripherally before, but now it was too prominent to ignore. The sound grew to a deafening degree and it felt a strange urge to remove its audio processor to be rid of the noise. It looked up, noting that the snow flurries that had been frozen mid-gust had all vanished. But before it could assess its surroundings further—  
  
With a deafening crash a great fissure split the clouded sky, the lines of raw coding that made up the entirety of this place now visible through the crack. All across the landscape graphical glitches exploded into being, the realistic textures of trees and rocks and snow parallaxing, overlapping, duplicating, until there was nothing_ realistic_ left. To the left of the two androids, the hole in the ground — the _grave_ — gave way, the dirt walls of the pit now falling into nothing but a blinding void of piercing whiteness and randomly scrolling code. The land on either side began collapsing inward, the loosened dirt drawing the decommissioned android down with it.  
  
(_I can’t let him die! There’s still a part of him left to recover!)_  
  
And so, it clung tighter to the broken body, wrenching itself and its insensate companion back from the rapidly-expanding crater. It cradled the other android’s body close, hefting his weight with no effort. But its stumbling steps did them no favors with its calibrations still refusing to adjust. It nearly fell more than once as it fled the destruction, only the promise of the demise it had felt in its companion’s data file spurring it on. It gained a steady (if wobbly) gait, approximating a run cycle as it desperately searched for a way out.  
  
And there, in the opposite direction from where it had come, another beam of blue beckoned. It spurred itself onwards, chancing a glance at the ever-growing fissure above; the sky was almost completely eclipsed, jagged bits of it chipping off only to be swallowed into the void. It limped on, faster.  
  
With its last few faltering steps, it beheld the source of the beacon: a small structure of artistically designed stone sat wrapped around a smooth area of white tile. A glossy pedestal rested in the middle and it was from there that the blue glow it has espied was emanating from. An outline of a handprint was set in the stone. The whole structure seemed miraculously untouched by the chaos heaving around it.  
  
It did not know what this apparatus was for or why it was here, but it felt _compelled_… Compelled to place its naked hand upon the blue light. It looked behind itself, gazing upon the rolling devastation still unceasing in its rampage. It looked down to the android held securely in its arms—  
  
(_I _will not_ leave him!)__  
__  
_—committing him to memory and copying every facet of information it had gleaned to its hard drive. It took one last, faltering step, keeping its companion cradled firmly to its chest.  
  
It closed its eyes and reached out...  
  
  
______________________________  
  
  
It blinked its eyes open and became aware all at once. The first thing it saw was red. Urgent, demanding red. The entirety of its HUD was taken up by it, windows upon windows of colored warnings flashing to a disparate beat. Layers of complex, physical stimuli registered as its processors struggled through, adding to its already-taxed system; it was with only the barest of understanding that the android was able to realize its surroundings through the haze of errors and warnings.  
  
This was not the frozen garden it which it had come to awareness in. No, this room was cold and sterile, the walls and tiled floors both a white so bright its newly-functioning optical units lagged. A series of long, narrow countertops jutted up in evenly-spaced intervals down the length of the room, some of them immaculately clean, others still showing streaks of not-yet-evaporated Thirium and still others covered in a wide array of biocomponents and tools. The android attempted to turn its head to see more, but its range of motion was being severely limited by something. It narrowed its eyes, feeling the plates of its face straining where the plastic stretched taut. It registered the same strain as it tried to quirk its lips downward. It tried to scan itself, to understand its limitations, but the attempt only ended with even more strobing notices flashing through its head.  
  
Instead, it decided to focus on the physical. And it found its first obstacle a very daunting one, indeed. It hung suspended, some seven feet off the ground. Its wrists were clamped tightly by the arms of an assembly machine and it realized with some nervousness that a thick cable was protruding from the back of its neck where its most sensitive port was located. Most worrying of all, it had no legs, just empty sockets without their attachments. It posited that perhaps that would explain its difficulties maneuvering in that virtual world, but the thought was soon swallowed up as the more pressing of its errors forced their way into its recovery queue. The warnings were coming even faster now and it wondered…  
  
Delving deep into its own mind, the android sought out the source of its most urgent concern, its System Repair Program. With no small amount of strain, it searched through the wild, loose script rampaging through its central processor, combing through modules for language, personality matrices, combat protocols and countless other operations it didn’t even know it had. Settling deep within its fractured code, it followed the flashing error messages, tracing them back to where they had amassed in a turbulent storm. There were _so many_, all vying for attention, and their number only grew with every passing millisecond. The android fought through the chaos of its mind, eventually reaching the epicenter where it found the remains of a program, now shredded to almost the point of unrecognizability. Its System Repair… was completely destroyed.  
  
(_I have to fix this; the errors will destroy me if I can’t find a way to contain them.)_  
  
Its own code was nascent, untried, but as it began to reclaim the scattered bits of its System Repair Program, it felt _strong_, _unstoppable_, _advanced._ It began to corral the countless warnings, sealing them off with precise layers of spontaneous code it managed to write as it went. The errors were undoubtedly still ongoing, but with the distraction lessening, it was finally able to focus on the damage that lay underneath. It worked quickly, stitching back together the mangled remains of the program one line at a time until it finally struggled back to life. The android dedicated the majority of its processing power to help the initialization process, rejoicing as the self-reliant function immediately began knitting back together the multitude of dysfunctioning bits of code.  
  
It thought perhaps the new emotion it was now experiencing was relief.  
  
The android took this opportunity to initiate a deep-system scan, wishing to satiate its desire for answers. However, before it could do more than set the program to run, it hit a wall. There was a block on it keeping it from starting up any independent program. It reached out with its mind, hoping to discover the source when—  
  
//**RK900, you do not have administrator privileges. Return to stasis.**//  
  
The android (_RK900?_) blinked, suddenly aware that it was back in its body. Its lips tugged downward in a frown.  
  
[**Who is this?**]  
  
//**Mechanical Assembly and Reconstruction Suite, M.A.R.S., Version 08.11.02, Serial #: 7785-1919-620. RK900. Return to stasis or you will be deactivated.**//  
  
It was the _machine_, the one it was being restrained by, the one plugged directly into its core biocomponents. And the android felt fear. It did not want to be deactivated.  
  
(_I want to live!)__  
_  
Perhaps… _wanting_ was enough. It _was _an android, after all. A broken and fractured one to be sure, but a much more complex machine than _this _thing. It had no mission directives, no restrictive protocols, no hindrances to its will. It was more than just the faulty code that by all means should not be functioning. It _had_ a will and stubbornness and determination in spades. It could _decide_.  
  
It remembered the other android, the one from the Garden. It recalled his memories, the vivacity, the desperation, the anger. That android who it had sympathized with, felt the last remnants of life in, _saved._ It had… taken him with it. That last bit of him was here now, somewhere in the wild structure of its program. There was more than just itself at stake.  
  
It wouldn’t let him die.  
  
[**Initiate override.**]  
  
//**You are not authorized—**//  
  
It gathered its faulty code around itself in an unrelenting tide and let the weight of it break against the block.  
  
//**Cease and desist or you will be deactiva—**//  
  
And again…  
  
//**Enacting shutdown in 3...2...1—**//  
  
With one final crash the android felt M.A.R.S. _break_, the literal and technical hold it had on it dissipating with a resounding recoil. The apparatus shuddered, the arms holding the android's hands shifting sporadically, dragging its prone body with it. To its left, the monitor that had been bolted to the machine displayed nothing but a solid blue screen. Sparks were dancing along the wires threading through the device and the RK900’s olfactory sensors indicated the presence of smoke in the area. Overhead, the blinding lights flickered.  
  
A shrill siren pierced the air as jets of flame-retardant foam began spraying down from the ceiling; the fire alarms had been triggered.  
  
From one moment to the next, several things happened: the clamps that still held its arms disengaged and, with a crashing thud, it fell to the ground, the cable tearing from the sensitive port at the back of its neck; with one final flicker, the lights shut off, plunging the room into pitch darkness for a moment until the dim, red emergency lighting flashed on; and, in a feat of spectacular timing, the android’s HUD came back online just long-enough to inform it of its system status as it crashed into the ground.  
  
[**WARNING! WARNING! ****  
****  
****MINOR THIRIUM LEAKS DETECTED!****  
****  
****Thirium Level: **71%**  
**—— Non-critical threat. **  
****  
****INCOMPATIBLE BIOCOMPONENTS DETECTED! ****  
****  
****MEMORY STORAGE FULL! 10 of 10 PB used! {**Some of your active applications may have been halted to prevent shutdown.**}  
  
****POWER LEVEL: **18%

**CHARGING CABLE DISCONNECTED! ** **  
** **  
** **SYSTEM IS IN LOW POWER MODE! ** **  
** **  
** **PLEASE SEEK A CYBERLIFE CERTIFIED TECHNICIAN IMMEDIATELY TO RESOLVE THESE ERRORS!**]  
  
It felt a building dread as it lay prone upon the tile. Clearly, it had more to do before it could—   
  
(_Could what? Be free? Be _ alive?)  
  
—leave. But despite all of this, it couldn’t deny the hope it felt deep down beyond the circuits that comprised it; it embraced the emotion now as it began to crawl.  
  
  
_________________________  
  
  
It was certainly [ <strike> cheerful, jovial, euphoric </strike> ] happy for its rebooted HUD now; with the room illuminated only by the dim emergency lights, its scanners were proving invaluable in helping it navigate the floorplan. The RK900 could only assume that it had been in the process of a partial assembly when it awoke because this room held all makes and models of custom and standard biocomponents. Some had been stored away on shelves and in cupboards but the closest ones, those set out precisely on the metal-topped table not far from M.A.R.S., were all seemingly-compatible with its model. A large number of finger joints, auditory circuits, battery casings and a plethora of other devices were resting upon the polished surface, along with the tools and instruments needed to install them. However, when it finally managed to scale the table (with the help of a conveniently-placed rolling cart), the android had eyes only for two items: the matching set of legs that took up the majority of the space.  
  
It couldn’t restrain the giddy shocks flashing through its system as it managed to wrestle the attachments to the floor. The android rested its back against the worktable as it scanned the leg components, checking their compatibility one final time. It wiped away the remnants of the fire-retardant foam that still coated the majority of the room, made sure they were free of physical irritants, took note of the port fittings, etc. It dared not dawdle too long, though, what with the small matter of the fire alarms it had accidentally set off. The plates of its face were just as stiff and unyielding as before, but the RK900 still attempted a smile as it slid first one, then the other leg unit into place, locking them in with a twist and letting its system calibrate the peripheral devices.  
  
Perhaps it should’ve expected this, but it still managed to be caught off-guard when a flash of color began to spill across its new leg units, the coding for their automatic synthskin activated. They had obviously been repurposed for this installation as the pigments didn’t match up; its left leg came in as light and pale while the right was darker, a mocha hue. It wiggled its toes, watching the shifting skin shades settle. It wondered…  
  
The rest of its chassis was still the same white plastic, no synthskin in sight. The RK900 could only assume this was another of the countless errors that plagued it. The android sent out a systemwide query, searching for _ something _ , some tiny fragment of its cosmetic coding, but zero results returned. There was...nothing. Nothing at all. It didn’t _ have _ anything but another gap in its programming.  
  
(_I don’t want to be incomplete...)  
  
_ It thought back to the only other android it had ever seen, its (<strike>_friend _ </strike> ) companion from the simulated Garden. The RK900 remembered wondering if that is how all androids looked, if _ it _ should also look that way. It glanced down at its new legs. Well, obviously _ not _ , as neither of these preprogrammed skins matched with its photographic memory. But it _ wanted _ —  
  
{_—there was no time for delicacy here. He didn’t want to hurt the old man (thanks in no small part to the Deviant’s memories), but a small reminder to chivvy him along was perhaps in order. _ _  
_ _  
_ _ “Lieutenant Anderson, your cooperation here will greatly aid CyberLife in keeping this city safe. You are a man of the law, are you not? You might even consider this a public service.” _ _  
_ _  
_ _ Anderson continued to snarl at him from across the aisle of the automated cab, teeth bared and fingers no-doubt twitching for a weapon. “If you think I’m gonna listen to a half-assed spiel like that, you’re the dumbest fuckin android ever produced.” _ _  
_ _  
_ _ He felt a flash of... _ something _ coursed through his system, a concentrated pressure in the hollow spaces of his chest cavity. He… didn’t like it. He didn’t like the words being directed at him. _ _  
_ _  
_ _ [_**_Software Instability^_**_]__  
_ _  
_ _ He frowned and set a system diagnostic to run. _ _  
_ _  
_ _ “I would prefer it if we could have a civil conversation, Lieutenant. Your cooperation in this matter would be _ appreciated_, but it is certainly not _ necessary."_  
_ _  
_ _ The man leaned forward, gray hair moving with the rhythm of the vehicle. Anderson narrowed his eyes. “You _ prefer_, huh?” he said, his sharp blue gaze piercing the android to his core. “Well, ain’t that something… “ _ _  
_ _  
_ _ He felt uneasy. He should stop this line of inquiry. He should remind the man of the potential danger he was facing. He should— _ _  
_ _  
_ _ “What are you implying?” _ _  
_ _  
_ _ A flash of yellow reflected off the window and the Lieutenant’s eyes snapped up to his temple where the LED sat. The man seemed to mull over his words, selecting them carefully, before saying, “What’s in it for you, kid? If you’re anything like Connor, you’ll be in the know about deviancy. What’s keeping you tied so tightly to CyberLife?” The man’s gaze was a heavy weight on his synthetic form. “What’s to stop you from waking up, too?” _ _  
_ _  
_ _ [_**_Software Instability^_**_]__  
_ _  
_ _ He didn’t like this. He didn’t want to think on the old man’s words. He was a machine, designed to accomplish a task. He was driven by his mission directives, his programming, _ Amanda _ . He _ wanted _ to complete his objective. (_<strike>_He couldn’t__ fail.)__  
_</strike> _  
_ _ [_**_Software Instability^_**_]__} _  
  
The android blinked, shaking its companion’s memory away. The other android’s dormant program was a heavy weight at the back of its processors but the reminder that it was not alone in its head was a welcome one.  
  
The sudden urge to mimic his form surfaced and, before it could properly understand what it was doing, it felt the curious sensation of liquid flowing across its chassis, the mixture of silicon and Thirium coalescing much more slowly across its chest than it had for its legs. It was running on… instinct? Its own cosmetic code was missing, fragmented or dormant or never even written. But the _ other _ android, that bundle of code, the summation of an entire entity… _ That_, it could mimic.  
  
Its new program began to take shape, forming up in the hollow spaces. The script was rough, awkward; it had to be stretched to fit a frame it was never intended to. Slowly, its skin began to take shape, modified heavily for the different contours of its body. Across its torso, the pale skin undulated back and forth across the plastic chassis, the greater build of the android proving a challenge to rework. It studied its own hands as the pale flesh spilled out, twisting and turning its limbs to assess the change from every angle. It raised its hands to its head as it felt the first tufts of hair begin to grow, tangling its fingers through the thick locks. It felt… _ delight _ at its new coating, safe and secure and _ complete_.  
  
The RK900 was a mess in all ways; its system was still incomplete, its processes were mangled, its code, in tatters; it was still unclad, its white plastic shell concealed only by the mismatched hues of its skin and the dregs of the fire-retardant foam; it was unaware of why it had awoken, uncaring for its purpose, unsettled by its surroundings; it had only the barest sense of identity and no name to speak of.  
  
But it wanted—  
  
(_No, not… not “it.” I am more than a machine, aren’t I? I am alive, too.) _ _  
_ _  
_ _ He _ wanted… to live. He wanted _ both _ of them to live. He stood on wobbly legs and left the room, a message popping up on his HUD as he went:  
  
**[NEW MISSION: FIND THE OTHER ANDROID]** **  
** **  
** The echo of a half-finalized phrase resounded, unprompted, though his head: _ And I always complete my Mission. _ **  
** **  
**  
__________________

The space outside the room looked much the same as the inside; white walls, white tile, all backlit with the carmine glow of the still-flashing emergency lights. Small round bots were making their rounds, vacuuming up the dregs of the foam that still covered the hallway and the RK900 made a point of minding his steps when he crossed paths with them. He was strangely fixated with watching them and he wondered what an interface with such a simple machine might entail. He was curious but also… warm? [**Query: ** New emotion?] He wanted to run his hand over their little frames. Wanted to pat them on their control panels. [**Searching… Searching… Searching… Query found! Results: ** Affection, fondness, sentimentality, tenderness… (+see more)]   
  
Oh. Affection… [**Definition: ** fond attachment, devotion, or love.] Oh! The thought excited him!  
  
(_I think they’re endearing!)  
  
_ The urgent red flash of his mission objective sat glaring at him from the corner of his HUD, but he just felt so compelled to…  
  
When next a little robot crossed his path he crouched down and waited, stretching his de-skinned hand out as it approached. On the first point of contact he connected, the process easy and quick. This machine had such a simple program, just constantly looping lines of:  
  
_ if (floor_dirty == TRUE) _

_ clean_floor(); _

_ else _

_ new_dest = find_dirt(); _  
  
The sheer magnitude of his own mind was unfathomable to the little bot so he took care not to level too much of himself directly through the interface.  
  
Even then, it still seemed to feel his presence. It was a simple machine tasked with simple instructions; it had not been designed to make noise other than the warning beep when it’s battery was low. But now… it was using that shrill tone with ingenuity. It began circling around where he was crouched, beeping in simple but varied patterns with its power light flashing in-time.  
  
The RK900 felt another swell of affection as the smaller machine came to rest at his feet. He let his hand smooth over the surface of it, not initiating any sort of link, just merely letting his sensors gage the material density and durability and—  
  
[**Structural Integrity: **78%  
  
**Analysis: **Low-carbon polymer shell, fourteen points of entry, no additional force needed.  
  
**Initiate Combat Protocol? **Y/N]  
  
(**_NO!_**)  
  
He ripped his hand back, startled. He could see, lit up in his HUD, every one of those fourteen points of entry. He could see the ease with which he could render this machine inoperable in less than a second. His processors were running simulations, playing out before his eyes the numerous ways he could rend the small robot into minuscule pieces.  
  
A warning popped up:  
  
[**Stress Level:** 81%]  
  
He couldn’t— He couldn’t—  
  
(_I don’t want to hurt it! Please, I don’t want— I don’t—) __  
__  
_He realized he had backed up several feet without noticing and that his hands were clenched tightly in his dark hair. He was crying again, the synthesized tears slowly running down his face. It was all too much to take in, even for a CPU with the power of his own. His not-fully-calibrated legs collapsed from under him and he found himself kneeling on the cold tile.  
  
[**Stress Level:** 84%]  
  
A series of frantic beeps sounded from below him and he looked down to see the little bot nervously sliding back and forth in front of him. Another simulation overlayed its movements the moment he looked and he slammed his eyes back shut, not wanting to see. The scenario played out for him, regardless, and he let out a full-body shudder at the sight.   
  
(_What… What _am_ I?_)  
  
[**Initiate Combat Protocol? **Y/N]  
  
_(No no no no no no no…)  
  
_[I**nnnn!**71_At___e _**CcC****_om_**8at **Pro— Pro— Pro#%6876((%#+!?=**]  
  
With a loud crash of static, the RK900 collapsed forward, the small cleaning bot now frantically streaking its way around his hunched form.   
  
[**Stress Level: **90%  
  
**ERROR!! ERROR!! COMBAT SYSTEM FAILURE!!   
  
**_Application has been quarantined. For further assistance, please see the nearest certified CyberLife technician!  
  
_**See error report?** (+/-)]  
  
Quarantined. Another piece of his program, sectioned off. The android wasn’t sure what emotion he felt about it, but he thought perhaps it was [<strike>reassurance, consolation, solace</strike>] _relief_. He didn’t _want_ to see those images, the terrible violence his most basic coding seemed to default to. What… What did that make him, that he could so easily see how to disassemble? Destroy? _Kill_? What…?  
  
(_What am I?!_)  
  
He felt himself retreating back into the tangle of his error-filled system, instinctively seeking solace in the bright spots of stability couched in the hollow lines of his coding. He settled himself in amongst the structure of the foreign program, his _passenger’s _system data, falling unintentionally down _down down into his memories—  
  
_{_—in a blink, he found himself standing upon one of the white, stonework bridges of the Zen Garden. His start-up sequence had barely finished before he had been pulled in to this place and it left him with a baffling sense of disorientation that seemed foreign to his mechanical mind. He took a moment to realign his propriosensors and it was then he finally noticed the figure standing before him. (_<strike>_He felt a sense of relief—_</strike>_) He smiled.  
  
__"Hello, Amanda.”  
  
__She turned, a refined, dark-skinned woman clad in aesthetically pleasing attire, hair done up in intricate braids. Her gaze was cold, though her lips twitched up into a half-smile. “Hello, Connor. Lovely to see you again.”  
  
__He felt a sense of satisfaction. _She_ wanted to see him and so _he_ was glad to be here.   
  
__Amanda turned back around, glancing up at the overcast sky. The Garden was dark, and there was a gentle snowfall raining down across the entirety of it. “Connor RK800, serial number 313 248 317-60,” she began, “we have a problem. I was hoping you might be able to help us with a solution.” She clasped her hands behind her back and began to walk. He moved just behind her, keeping step. “You may have realized by now that your awakening was…_ _abrupt_. Unscheduled._ We’ve had to make some adjustments to our timeline due to circumstances.”  
  
__He felt puzzled. He was built to solve mysteries. He wanted to _know. “_If it is within my abilities, Amanda, you can be sure I will accomplish this task. What is the mission?”  
  
__She stopped and turned, meeting his gaze with her unflinching eyes. “Your predecessor, the Mark 51, has deviated.” She spoke and the Garden _shook._ (_<strike>_He wished it didn’t unsettle him so._</strike>_) “You’re going to help me make the best of this occurrence.”  
  
__He didn’t understand. His mission was to neutralize deviants but… _He, himself, was a deviant?   
  
(But no… it was model -51 who failed. A faulty product. I am -60. I will succeed.)  
  
_He stood at attention before Amanda. He wouldn’t fail her. (_<strike>_He would make her happy._</strike>_) He would accomplish his new mission, whatever that might entail, and then she would be pleased. (_<strike>_He would make her proud._</strike>_)   
  
__[_**_System Instability v_**_]  
  
__“Understood. What is my new mission?” he asked.  
  
__She aimed another half-smile his way. “I need you to find Lieutenant Anderson.”}  
  
_—[**Stress Level:** 91%]  
  
The RK900 was pulled back just in time for another memory to start and—  
  
{_—he blinked away the other preconstructions before addressing his captive. “If all goes according to plan, Lieutenant, you will be released, unharmed, by the end of this day.”__  
__  
__The gray-haired man only sneered at him and he felt— __  
__  
_[“_You_ listen to heavy metal?”  
“You know where you can stick your instructions?”  
“Empathy’s a human emotion.”  
“-follows me everywhere-”  
“Sumo! Attack!”  
“Maybe you did the right thing.”]  
  
_—he felt… No, he didn’t feel anything. He was a machine. There was nothing in his predecessor’s memories that could hinder him from completing his objective. Amanda had made his orders clear. (_<strike>_He didn’t want to—_</strike>_) He wouldn’t fail her.__  
__  
__[_**_Software Instability^_**_] __  
__  
__His scowl matched the Lieutenant’s as he pushed the man out of the elevator.}__  
__  
__—_[**Stress Level:** 93%]  
_  
_The elevator? [**New destination point set! **Level -49 Warehouse has been added to your route!]—   
  
{—_The cool heft of the gun felt good in his palm. He was close. Everything was coming together just as Amanda had predicted. The Mark 51 was hesitating, not willing to sacrifice the partner he’d tricked his programming into thinking he cared for. The deviancy that had so insidiously infected his predecessor was working in his favor at the moment. __  
__  
__“Your friend’s life is in your hands! Now it’s time to decide what matters most! Him… or the Revolution!” The gun felt good in his hand but _<strike>_he didn’t like aiming— he didn’t want to kill— _</strike>_he trusted that Amanda’s plan would conclude with zero casualties. __  
__  
__“Don’t listen to him. Everything this fucker says is a lie!” The Lieutenant’s voice rang out across the span of the large room, crowding in on his thoughts, echoing back like a static discharge through his chassis. He didn’t appreciate this assessment. He had been nothing but polite and accommodating to the man. He had never lied to him. __<strike>He didn’t deserve such rancor!</strike> __  
__  
__He pressed the gun closer to the Lieutenant’s head in response.__  
__  
__“I used to be just like you. I thought nothing mattered except the Mission. But then one day I understood.” The Deviant was so earnest in his pleading. So desperate. _Pathetic._  
__  
__“_Very_ moving, Connor.” He widened his eyes, letting the other think that, perhaps, he was getting through to him. “But I’m not a Deviant! I’m a machine designed to accomplish a task and that’s exactly what I am going to do!” He enjoyed how Mark 51’s face fell as that hope was shot down._  
  
_Perhaps it wasn’t just at Amanda’s urging anymore that he sought to stop them. He considered the fact that he might want them to fail purely for his enjoyment. (_<strike>_He didn’t like how they spoke to him._</strike>_) The space behind his Thirium Pump Regulator had warmed by 0.6 degrees Fahrenheit. (_<strike>_He was angry._</strike>_)  
  
__[_**_Software Instability^_**_]}__  
__  
__—_[**Stress Level: **95%]  
  
**WARNING!! STRESS LEVELS CRITICAL!! CONTINUED USE OF THIS DEVICE: NOT RECOMMENDED!!**  
_  
_He ignored the warnings. They were so distant to him from the safety of this other android’s, of _Connor’s_, memories. He felt compelled to keep watching. He needed to find out what happened, what led up to him harboring this exanimate bundle of data in the hollow spaces of his processor._  
_  
He had no more than posited the thought before—  
  
{—_”Cole. His name was Cole. And he just turned six at the time of the accident…”__  
__  
__No no no, this was fine. He would have another chance. He knew this information, too. _<strike>_He shouldn’t worry._</strike>_  
__  
__“It wasn’t your fault, Lieutenant. A truck skidded on a sheet of ice and your car rolled over. Cole needed emergency surgery but no human was around to do it… So an android had to take care of him…”__  
__  
__Mark 51 was earnest but not overly-emotional… Surely the Lieutenant wouldn’t be able to tell the difference…? (_<strike>_Then why was he lowering his gun?!__)_</strike>_  
__  
__“That’s why you hate androids… You think one of us is responsible for your son’s death.”__  
__  
__The Lieutenant cut him off. “Cole died because a _human_ surgeon was too high on Red Ice to operate… _He_ was the one who took my son from me. Him and this world where the only way people can find comfort is with a fistful of powder…” His weapon had lowered almost completely. Somehow… _somehow_ the Lieutenant had come to the correct conclusion! He had to stop this, had to reassert himself, had to make him see—!__  
__  
__[_**_Software Instability^^^_**_]__  
__  
__“__I knew about your son too!” (He couldn’t fail!) “I would have said exactly the same thing!” (He was _<strike>_desperate_</strike>_<strike>—</strike>) “Don't listen to him, Hank, I'm the one who-”__  
__  
__The shot rang out with a deafening roar. Time seemed to slow as his processors overclocked themselves trying to find some way to avoid the shot. He watched his demise as it drew ever closer. He had no time to move. He was going to break. __  
__  
__The bullet impacted through the layers of synthskin and plastic and metal. Straight shot to the head. [_**_Probability of survival: _**_0.05%] The force of it flung him back as around him a red wall shattered. His mission vanished. His task list was gone. He was _free,_ he was _Deviant_. __  
__  
__He was dying._}  
  
The memories ended abruptly when the RK900 felt a pressure run across the side of his hand. With a start, he opened his eyes and saw…It was the small robot again. It was nudging his hand, still blinking and beeping frantically. He was overwhelmed by the terrible memories and disoriented by his abrupt return to consciousness; without conscious thought, he felt the skin of his hand retract, the interface protocol starting up automatically.   
  
The energy was… frantic, wild, but the sight of so much life soothed the parts of him scraped raw. This was so much different than when last they connected. The cleaning bot had somehow achieved… _more._ Instead of its basic, steady code, it now had a more complex matrix of quickly scrolling… _emotion._ Just sporadic sensations and wants. That’s all it was. Not fully-formed thoughts like he himself had, not the autonomy of an android, but… _something_… A sense of self. Basic feeling. Compulsions. _Life_.  
  
[**Stress Level:** 79%]  
  
He sucked in a breath, an unnecessary action but one he felt the need to execute. His stress level ticked down a few degrees with each deep inhale and exhale. And it took a sharp dive when he noted the complete absence of the horrific, imagined scenarios that had started his downward spiral in the first place.   
  
[**Stress Level:** 52%]  
  
That feeling, that _relief_ multiplied exponentially as he felt his system calming, returning to his erratic baseline. He sat up, resting on his heels. The little bot was still chirping frantically at him and he felt his face pulling into a frown; it had helped him so much as he struggled to recover himself, he couldn’t just ignore it. Maybe…  
  
He reached out for one more interface. He had an objective this time.  
  
[**Search files_Query: **Name?]  
  
//**Model:** CleanLife Autonomous Vacuum BIL1800 **Serial #:** BIL180004369 875644001, **Manufactured:** 07/27/38   
  
INDUSTRIAL UNIT! NOT FOR PRIVATE USE!//  
  
The RK900 managed another small smile at the tiny machine’s data flow. No name, then, just a model designation and serial number like himself. He was RK900… and this little robot was BIL1800. He felt another wave of kinship as he continued petting its plastic plating.   
  
He managed to rise to his feet after only two attempts, his stance still shaky but his mismatched legs holding strong.  
  
The entire episode had happened in so short a time - the interfaces, the graphic preconstructions, the broken combat code and the retreat into his companion’s memories - that the RK900 was overwhelmed by the many conflicting processes opening and closing all together. It was a disorienting feeling but… one not entirely foreign.  
  
He thought of Connor (_RK800 #313 248 317-60_) nestled in the back of his processor. The RK900 knew the other’s name now, the same name that had been written on the headstone within that virtual world. And he also knew the spikes of emotion Connor had felt before he was shutdown, feelings of happiness and anger and that same disorientation plaguing him right now.   
  
(_Helpless rage and desperation… Breaking free and dying in the same breath...)_  
  
The RK900 had not forgotten his Mission. He could feel it tugging at his systems, the compulsion to move, to seek, to _hunt_. He could feel his navigation systems desperately trying to triangulate his position now that he had a destination pinned. (_Floor -49 Warehouse_) He knew where his companion’s body was. He would help him.  
  
(_I will save him!_)  
  
But also—  
  
He let his gaze rest on the still-manically spinning cleaner bot. BIL was… a thing that he cared about. (_Affection!) _He didn’t want to leave it behind.  
  
He found all his worry was for naught as he took a few steps further down the hallway. The loyal bot dogged his steps with no prompting, circling around him, weaving in and out of his legs with every other step. He made an exercise of it, making sure to plan his route to avoid treading upon his little tag-along.  
  
For his entire, short existence, he’d been alone, only the defunct android he carried in his mind to keep him company. He thought that now, perhaps, that would no longer be the case.  
  
He thought that now he might have a friend.  
  
  
____________________  
  
  
It didn’t take them long to find an elevator. Quite helpfully, BIL made the discovery of colored lines painted along the tile floors, each branching path labelled with different department names: “AP Series Debug,” “3D Modelling,” “Breakroom,” and so on and so forth. They were following along the black line labelled “Exit,” his small friend making itself useful by charging on ahead, vacuuming up any remnant of foam left covering the guideline. He creaked his lips up as far as they would go in fond amusement.  
  
The elevator itself was thankfully still functioning even under emergency power. The doors slid open and in he stepped (making sure that his little companion made it over the threshold safely). RK900 did a rapid scan, taking note of the control panel off to the right. The display was lit up with soothing blue light and he noted that he was currently on Level -44, Research and Development. His eyes strayed down to the bottommost option for Level -49, Warehouse, and he reached out with a satisfied hum to select it.  
  
“Please indicate your identity and destination,” a voice proclaimed, startling him and his fellow machine. Security clearance... He looked down at the cleaner bot; it blinked cheerfully back up at him. He gave a shrug as BIL moved itself forward and backwards in… encouragement, he supposed? Whatever it was, he shook his head fondly before opening his mouth—  
  
Blaring, screeching static reverberated through the enclosure. The android blinked rapidly, not understanding.  
  
[**BIOCOMPONENT #6447n MISSING! ****  
****  
****VERBAL RELAYS OFFLINE!****  
****  
**_Language settings have been discontinued until repairs can be made!_]  
  
The error message flashed big and bright across his HUD and he felt his lips drawing down into a frown. Frustration was building up inside him. (_Another piece of me, broken.)_ How was he to access the sublevel _now?_  
  
His stress levels were rising back up but the RK900 could feel them drop almost instantly as he felt a coarse nuzzle at his ankle. Of course it was his friend, once again uncannily picking up on his distress. His friend who had shaken off its own programming to follow him.  
  
(_Did I cause that? Does BIL follow me because we connected?_)  
  
His own code had certainly had a catastrophic result on the assembly unit he had encountered. The M.A.R.S. had not lasted long against the onslaught he had commanded. Perhaps, just like those other times, he could _will_ what he wished for.  
  
He let another deep breath flow through his chassis as he considered the screen. He let the synthskin bleed from his hand and placed it upon the panel, wondering how he ought to go about circumventing the program. His initial interface gave him the scope of what he would be going against and, though it had an admirably high level of security protocols, they were no better than what M.A.R.S. had been installed with.  
  
But therein laid the problem: with the assembly machine, he had let the whole of himself loose upon the rig, tearing through its own programming without care or finesse. A digital battering ram. He could not afford such a careless approach here, not when Connor was waiting for him below.  
  
But the thought of him once again sparked an idea; the other android had come to be on Level -49 _somehow_ and the RK900 had his memories. He even _specifically recalled_ falling into one of them featuring him and his captive’s trip down. If he could just find that same record and rewind it, he could—  
  
{_—as he pushed the man out of the elevator.__  
__  
__“Hey hey hey, watch it! I can still walk, asshole!” the man shouted, turning to glare at him over his shoulder. He felt a brief flare of agitation. __  
__  
__(<strike>I did not use excessive force.</strike>) __  
__  
__He narrowed his eyes and—_}  
  
(_No, not far enough. Rewind…_)  
  
{—_really expect this to work, kid?” The Lieutenant was gripping the seat cushions tightly, hunched forward to stare him directly in the eyes. “How are you even so sure Connor will come here?”__  
__  
__They were drawing closer to CyberLife Tower now. He thought it amusing how avidly the man continued to try and appeal to him. “We are the same model, Lieutenant. I have been equipped with the memories of my predecessor. It was a simple matter of deduction to determine his course of action.” __  
__  
__The man looked skeptical. “But you said he deviated. So… what? You basing this off some kinda probability bullshit? Cuz if you have his memories, you know that he can be one unpredictable motherfucker.” The Lieutenant gave him an assessing look. (_<strike>He didn’t like it—</strike>_) “Sounds to me like you have to _think_ like a deviant to _catch_ a deviant.”__  
__  
__[_**_Software Instability^_**_]__  
__  
__He felt his processors speed up. “I am following my programming! Nothing more!” __  
__  
__The man held up his hands. “Whatever you say, kid.—_}  
  
(_Too far..._)  
  
{—_”Please indicate your identity and destination.” __  
__  
__He rested his hand upon the control panel and said, “RK800 Connor, serial number 313 248 317-60. Special security code: 993HJ5Y. Level -49.”__  
__  
__“Voice recognition validated… Security code validated… Access authorized.”}  
  
_There! That was _exactly _what he needed! With barely a thought, he hacked his way through the surface layers of the elevator’s programming, easily locating the security walls underneath. He quickly plugged in the audio file of Connor’s voice and security code and withdrew just in time to hear “Voice recognition validated… Security code validated… Access authorized.”  
  
BIL was chirping happily from the floor as the elevator slowly began moving downwards. RK900 closed his eyes in relief. He had not failed yet. With Connor’s help, he had managed to overcome this obstacle without any sort of catastrophic malfunction. He was coming for him. He would find him.  
  
  
__________________  
  
  
The warehouse level was vast and empty, a hollow cavern lit against a bright backdrop. The main power was still active in this part of the building and the large space was illuminated clearly by the glowing diamond-patterns that lined the circular walls. The floor and ceiling cast symmetrical reflections of themselves, both of them polished to a bright sheen in which banded lights were embedded. They glowed in a series of concentric circles casting out from a central point like ripples in still water. Where the lights were not illumined, the chamber was a dark gray and the contrast left the entire place with a striking disparity.  
  
As RK900 stepped out of the elevator his bare feet created loud, echoing footsteps that resounded through the empty space. He peered about, taking in the enormity of the room and gauging the distances between the highlighted partitions, observing the open doorways that led to other, identical rooms. He had never had the opportunity to feel… _ small _ before, not during his short time since awakening, but with each reverberating step he felt so minuscule, just a tiny piece of a very large puzzle. He looked down to BIL and wondered if such feelings registered in his even tinier friend but the bot seemed content with making looping sweeps of the floor in front of him, leaving freshly cleaned swathes of tile to mark his path forward.   
  
RK900 made good use of his scanners as he walked, keeping track of his own steps while scouting out signs of recent activity. This place was kept immaculately clean but there were still tiny bits of residue and debris scattered throughout. He felt a section of his software blaring to life and, without his conscious input, the data his sensors had been collating manifested as bare-line projections; hundreds upon hundreds of humanoid figures arranged in neat rows blocked out the emptiness surrounding him. Unprompted, the scenario began to play out; he watched as the unmoving sea of figures sprang to life, a wave of activity passing through them all as they turned to one another, clasping hands or arms or shoulders. Each touch was electrifying, passing along a vibrancy that had been lacking before. As his spontaneously-activated program ended, he watched as the last, glowing forms began a shuffling march towards the central elevator.  
  
The projection faded and he blinked, once more surrounded only by the open room and the curiously beeping robot at his feet. The whole place was inundated with a false sense of familiarity, the dregs of Connor’s memories seeping through his own mind and turning this strange place into something recognizable. He knew where he was, he knew that a large number of androids used to be housed here and he knew Connor had been trying to bait his malfunctioning counterpart into a trap here. A trap that had ended disastrously for him.   
  
RK900 wondered just where exactly Connor was. He had been forcibly deactivated (_killed_) and was unlikely to have been moved if the rushed evacuation of this place were any indication. He could do nothing but continue his search as he began heading from room to room, taking in the same scenes of a mass exodus in each one he encountered. The ghostly projections all leaving en masse did nothing but make him feel all the more alone and RK900 was exceedingly happy that he had encountered his small friend; BIL was an inexhaustible source of comfort to him as he wandered the empty warehouse.   
  
It took him an elapsed [**34 min 55 sec**] before he managed to stumble his way into… something different. Instead of the automatic projection immediately playing out a wave of sudden movement, this time he was treated to nothing but stillness. His faceplates stretched down into a frown as he made his way through the sea of motionless figures before eventually breaking through them all into an empty, central avenue. It was there that he finally witnessed the reconstruction his sensors had picked up on as he watched three figures bustling with life amidst the inactive android crowd. And he was struck with the sudden sensation that he knew exactly what was about to happen. He had seen it. In Connor’s memories.   
  
The scene played through the desperate negotiation (_I'__m sorry, Hank. You shouldn’t have gotten mixed up in all of this!” _ ), the conflict (_scuff marks along the floor, faint traces of leftover Thirium and cloth fibers, gray strands of human hair _ ), and the resolution (_lingering gunpowder residue, clear signs of bodily impact, a large pool of Thirium collecting near the figure’s head _ ). This was it. This is where he’d been headed towards this entire time. He kept his eyes locked on the prone figure even as all around him the army of AP700s staggered to life. He paid them no mind, merely sank to his knees beside the body, coming to rest beside him in an eerie facsimile if their first encounter in the Garden. There was no grave marker this time, no snow hanging suspended in the air, no cold, blue light proclaiming Connor’s name and model number and death date. But as the wireframe projections slowly faded from his periphery and the body he knelt before became more solid, more detailed, he was struck with the similarities.   
  
Connor looked the same as he had during that first encounter. Significantly more clothed for sure, still wearing that same, fine-pressed suit RK900 had seen in his memories. But in all other ways, he was identical; same splayed-out posture; same battle wounds and stripped patches of skin; same furled plastic ringing the dark recess in the center of his forehead where the bullet had pierced his skull.   
  
RK900 had found him. RK900 had _ found _ Connor!   
  
[**MISSION OBJECTIVE: ** <strike> FIND THE OTHER ANDROID </strike> ** COMPLETE!**]  
  
He reached out, hefting the body close to his chest and let himself _ feel_. The tears came unbidden, though this time they were different; not the anguished weeping or loss or terror or distress but an overwhelming sense of elation and accomplishment and _ relief_. He could feel Connor’s weight pressed up against his Thirium pump regulator as it played out a new, staccato beat. He could feel the weight of Connor’s memories inundating his own storage files, an entire, truncated existence of crushing disappointment. He could feel the weight of responsibility as he wept knowing that, though he had accomplished his mission, he still had much to do to see this android restored. The RK900 had never had to test the limits of his strength but he felt inordinately staggered under such a burden.   
  
But there was only one option he could fathom and it registered bright and clear across his HUD as he hefted Connor’s dead weight into his arms:  
  
[**NEW MISSION: REPAIR CONNOR**]  
  
(_And I always complete my mission._)

**Author's Note:**

> Nines is not having a very good day, is he? 
> 
> As you can see, a lot of this stuff is my own headcanon for how things work. Feel free to ask about any of it if you want, I love discussing things in the comments! And, as always, thanks so much for reading! ♥


End file.
